Zerasa Rhapsody Prologue 27,212, Age of Magic, Late Summer "Easy." The word was the only sound that Jyeron allowed, and the Shadowborn beside him understood. He flattened himself to the deck and didn't growl as Jyeron stepped out from behind his barrels and lifted his hands, smiling calmly at the crossbows aimed at him. "Is there something that I can do for you, my lords, my ladies?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the wielders of the crossbows. It didn't make much sense to look at the weapons. He was perfectly capable of stopping the quarrels once they were in flight. But he needed to see the eyes of the wielders, and, through their eyes, their minds, to see if they were going to loose the quarrels and give him the trouble of stopping them at all. "You know perfectly well what you can do for us, smuggler," said one of the women in the front row, but another woman stopped her with a look and a shake of her ahead. "We don't have time for that now, Cylene. And we have to consider everyone innocent until we find irredeemable proof of guilt." Her eyes came back to Jyeron, and there was loathing in them. "Even a damned curalli." Jyeron smiled patiently, while his mind danced with thoughts of what he could do to her if he had her alone. He would enjoy it greatly, but he doubted very much that the Captain would. "We have to ask you," said the Captain, tension in her voice as she aimed the crossbow at his gut. Jyeron snorted in his mind. He could cut that bolt apart with Ella before it lodged in him at all. Of course, they didn't know that, and that was the point. "Do you have any weapons on the ship that are not on your person?" Jyeron pondered. He knew now that they weren't going to shoot him, at least not until he said something they didn't like. How much could he get away with? He wouldn't have tried, but he despised the Zerasa dock watch on principle. They were like terriers; they fastened on one target and shook it until it was dead, never minding that around them the other targets were escaping. "Yes," he said at last, calmly, and ignored their gaping mouths. "Of course." "What kind?" asked the Captain, her voice edged. Even more revealing, the snakes on her head that she had instead of hair writhed incessantly, snapping and striking at the air. "A moment." Jyeron snapped his fingers and whistled. There was a slight scuffle, more for his audience's benefit than any other reason, and then the Shadowborn trotted forward from behind the barrels. His wagging tail was only for Jyeron's benefit, but they didn't know that, any more than they knew that the shadow-wolf was intelligent enough to cause sound deliberately. He leaned against Jyeron's leg, baring his teeth at the medusa Captain. "I meant, steel weapons." The snakes were attacking each other now. "Ella here." Jyeron's hand brushed against his sword's hilt. She vibrated and trembled with eagerness to be out and at them, but Jyeron restrained her with a calming touch- the same one that he used to remind himself that it wasn't a good idea to kill them if he could possibly avoid it. "That's all." "No daggers? No shipments of crossbow bolts, or swords?" Jyeron sighed. "No, no, and no. Anything else that you would care to ask me?" The medusa sniffed, then paused. There was a fleeting moment when Jyeron could see her struggling not to admit that her sense of smell wasn't as good as that of others in her command. Then she jerked her head, and said, "Orkan. Alessa. Forward." They came forward, one a cat-headed Elwen who was probably Orkan and the other one of the shapechanging cloud-beasts that were called galti, at the moment forming herself into the shape of a bloodhound. They both sniffed diligently, then looked up. "Sugar, Captain." The Elwen's voice was sharp, deep, a growl. The galti said nothing that Jyeron could hear, but whatever it was that the Captain heard made her narrow her striking green eyes and turn to him. "We want to see what's in the barrels." "Of course." Jyeron turned and began to take off the loose lid of the first one, which he had removed the seal from deliberately, so that he wouldn't have to spend minutes struggling with it. They stared at him for a moment, and then the Captain said hoarsely, "You are willing to let us inspect the barrels?" Jyeron turned his head, eyes narrowed, fighting to control his contempt. They had no land Elwens who could read emotions in this group, and so he didn't have to be as careful as he would have otherwise, but still, controlling his emotions was a good habit that he practiced whenever possible. "You asked me to let you inspect them, my lady. I am doing what you asked me to do. Refusing would get me three months in the Zerasa prison, or worse, if I remember the laws correctly." "But-" "Yes?" The Captain realized, too late, that she had let him get control of the conversation, and that from now on the control could only deteriorate. Her shoulders slumped. "We want to see what's in the barrels." "Yes, my lady." Jyeron took off the lid of the barrel and beckoned for them to come forward. The Shadowborn at his leg growled, not liking the strangers stepping on his barge. Jyeron patted his neck, keeping his hand carefully positioned so that it didn't sink through the shadows that formed that neck. The Shadowborn considered it an insult when something like that happened. The Captain and the galti, Alessa, came on board. They stared into the barrel for a long moment. Jyeron stood, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on nothing as he waited for them to decide if he would be allowed to pass or not. Ella vibrated at his side, longing to be taken out so she could cut them apart. Jyeron calmed her, with a thought this time, and waited some more. "This is sugar?" The Captain's voice when she finally spoke was flat, unbelieving. "Yes, my lady." She spun towards him, obviously not caring about who was controlling the conversation anymore, her eyes flaring with anger that would have paralyzed many where they stood. The fact that she couldn't do that to Jyeron only made her all the more angry. "It can't be. We had a report that you were smuggling chaunri." Jyeron's eyebrows lifted before he could stop himself. A report? That indicated certain and sure knowledge. Odd. Almost no one knew what he did, or at least could find the proof that would be necessary to order his execution. "Taste it, my lady." There came an angry breath from the direction of the gathered dock watch. Jyeron ignored them, his mocking gaze on the Captain. That would be the ultimate test, of course- chaunri and sugar might look the same save for color and even smell the same, but chaunri was far sweeter. She would know in an instant if she was tasting the highly addictive drug. And then she would be hopelessly bound to it, with only a quarter of her expected lifespan to look forward to, three-quarters eaten by the chaunri as it, among its other effects, sped her heart and metabolism. Staring at him, eyes locked with his, the Captain bent low enough that one of the snakes on her head could bite into the white crystals in the barrel. Jyeron concealed his scowl. Of course, he had forgotten that she was a medusa, and could have her snakes taste deadly things without being affected. He should have remembered. Damn. The snake, a blue racer, licked softly for some moments, its forked tongue flickering every time that Jyeron blinked, so that he never quite saw it. At last, the Captain let out an explosive breath, and her command looked up alertly. Her eyes once more fixed on Jyeron, the medusa said, with utmost reluctance, "Sugar." Jyeron inclined his head, saying nothing. "Search the barge!" The Captain swung around, her voice rising, and then stopped as she found Ella out of her sheath and at her throat. "Boarding to smell something that you are unsure of is one thing," said Jyeron softly. "Boarding to search the barge is forbidden, and you know that very well. This is my property. The only way that you can search me is if I stand on shore, and you can't search the barge at all with my permission." The medusa snarled at him, flashing fangs as poisonous as any viper's. "I know," said Jyeron, knowing that his tone of false sympathy didn't fool her for a moment. "You sometimes hate the very laws of Zeras you are sworn to uphold. But that doesn't matter. For, without our laws, are we not barbarians, without civilization? And where would we be if we did not have civilization?" The medusa ground her teeth, but he had her. No one wanted to go back to the chaos of the earlier Age of Magic, when in the aftermath of the Change the wild magic had run mad and no "civilization" that tried to found itself lasted more than a few centuries at most. That chaos was still within the memories of some. And those who didn't remember it- like this Captain, Jyeron thought- had been told enough tales about it to know that they never wanted that to happen again. "We are going now," she said, stepping off the barge onto the dock, her eyes glittering and so filled with hate that Jyeron was doubly glad of the protection his magic granted him from her eyes. "But know that, if we ever catch you with chaunri, then our vengeance will be swift and merciless." "Vengeance?" "For all the helpless victims that have died at your hands," she said, glaring at him. Jyeron bowed to hide his face. At that moment, he didn't think that he could have hidden his feelings. This changed things, and was as good as a warning bell to someone like him, experienced in the nuances of threats in Zeras and dozens of other cities, some of them cities grander than these Changed would ever know. They had moved from enforcers of the law to simple enforcers. They saw themselves as avengers for the dead, and Jyeron knew well that there was no one more dangerous than the man who saw himself that way. It was war. "Very well," he said softly as he straightened, though he didn't know if they knew what he was agreeing to. "Now, get out of my sight. I have business to conduct, and your presence will hamper it." "In that case, perhaps we ought to remain right where we are." The Captain's glance found support among all her soldiers, Jyeron saw. He wondered, not for the first time, if the guards chosen for customs duty were not deliberately picked from among those who had lost people they loved to chaunri or some other drug. "No." Jyeron held up a hand. "What are you doing?" Jyeron ignored the question, instead giving a series of loud yips and whines ending in a growl. In moments, the darkness was thick with crowding shapes, some of them Shadowborn, some of them wolves. The Captain backed up before the flashing teeth, and the glowing eyes- amber or yellow or green for the wolves, blue-green for the Shadowborn- staring at her. "And you say you are not Changed?" Jyeron laughed. "You just have to know how to speak their language, my lady. Now. Leave." "You are Changed." "It hardly matters." Jyeron narrowed his eyes, and Ella vibrated in his hands. "Go, my lady. Please. I don't want to stain the docks with blood; I might slip, unloading these barrels. Go." They turned and walked away, trying not to hurry so much it would look as if they were running. The wolves dispersed when Jyeron nodded, save the four Shadowborn, who came and stood on the edge of the docks, wagging their tails and visibly preventing themselves from lunging forward to greet him. "All right." Jyeron made the leap to the docks, so that they wouldn't launch themselves and perhaps have to expand their dimensions, since the shadows on the barge were thicker. They swarmed around him, wagging their tails, balancing supposedly unsubstantial paws that certainly felt heavy enough on his shoulders and nipping gently at his face and the corners of his mouth. "Easy." They knew that one and dropped to their paws, still gazing at him eagerly. Jyeron smiled. His affinity with wolves was one thing, but not enough to command the Shadowborn unless they decided it was. His far more ancient affinity, as a shadowed Elwen, with the shadow- wolves was what made him special. "All right. It's time." The Shadowborn briefly dispersed, the shadows of their bellies parting and then coming back together. Small, tightly sealed canisters of chaunri fell to the docks. Jyeron retrieved them and then patted the Shadowborn on their heads. "Come." They followed him, the one from the barge springing to the docks, as he made his way towards mainland Zeras. Jyeron paused briefly, to drink in the sight of the glittering lights of the city, a constellation- or a spiderweb- of lamps, fires, weapons, and wild magic. Then he went on, to his first sale of the night. Chapter 1 Day "Light permits no secrets." -Attributed to the Linguist-Historian Waaiamiraian, ninety-second century of the Age of Magic. He rested his shoulder against the door, his smile gentle and half-secretive, as he watched them shifting about the room like a restless herd, speaking and then glancing at the door as if expecting to see their teacher, then retreating back to their seats. He shrugged and stepped into the classroom, smiling as they scrambled. "Fair-day," he said, mildly enough, though he felt a tugging at his lips and fought to keep from smiling in amusement instead of welcome as they stared at him. "I would like to begin by introducing myself, and then by hearing any questions you may have. If that would be acceptable?" They stared at him, then nodded slowly, as they saw that he meant for them to give an answer. It wasn't the way that many Linguist-Historians taught their classes. But then, he wasn't an ordinary Linguist-Historian. He wasn't an ordinary anything. "My name is Jyeron Silkshadow," he said, stepping forward and touching the nearest of the half a dozen colored spheres that rotated in the air. The shifting, swirling hues turned almost at once to brilliant yellow, and then to blue. Then light beamed out of it, a mixture of gold and blue that brightened the room and yet allowed the students to see the letters that began appearing in tune with his voice clearly. "Welcome to the Basics of Ancient Aril and Melli." He tilted his head when he saw a fleeting panicked look pass over the face of a young land Elwen seated near the back of the class. "Yes, my lady?" Blinking- whether at the form of address or that he had noticed, Jyeron wasn't sure- followed. Then she rose to her feet, fixing eyes the color of crystal on him. "My lord," she said, and then hesitated. "It's Jyeron." Jyeron had no patience for the titles that the courtesies required when applied to himself. He felt that they put a distance between him and others, a distance that had been there most of his life and that he wasn't interested in maintaining artificially. "And please, feel free to express whatever concerns you might have." She paused again, as if scanning his face to make sure he wasn't about to lash out again, and Jyeron wondered what had put such a timid look in her eyes. It was unusual to see a Linguist-Historian student who wasn't at least a little confident. And the students taking such an odd class as this usually wanted seriously to learn. "My name is Linola," she said at last, lowly, giving no surname even when Jyeron held out one hand to invite her to continue. "And, my lord, I am concerned that I will not be able to endure the class." "Endure, my lady Linola? I would like to think that my class is not that boring." Jyeron smiled as the other students laughed, glad to see that he was beginning to establish a rapport with them already. But Linola didn't laugh. She twisted her hands, staring at him, her pale blond hair and pale face- natural, since she was a land Elwen, though unusual in the warm climate of Zeras- adding to her washed-out look. Eventually, Jyeron stopped laughing, and felt a surprising tenderness glow in his heart for a moment. "Yes, my lady?" he repeated. "I- my lord, I know it's not done, but I would like to ask you immediately what kinds of punishment you intend to use in the class," she said, blushing so deeply that her face looked like an open wound. "Punishment?" Was it really that bad in the other classes? Jyeron, teaching only this class and one other, had no idea what went on in the others. And no Linguist- Historian was supposed to ask another, unless he or she saw a flagrant abuse of the rules in plain sight. There it was, the heart of Zerasa law: rigid justice, and the equally rigid protection of privacy, trying to make the highest tier of civilization, balanced between the common and the individual, possible. "Yes, my lord." "Jyeron," Jyeron corrected her, fuming in his head and deciding that he would look into this, custom or no custom. This was intolerable, if someone had so brutalized this young woman that she wanted to know if the class would be too brutal for her to endure on the first day. "No, I use no punishment. Someone may fail the class, yes, if she doesn't put forth any effort at all. But I like to think, as I said, that I don't make the class so boring that anyone would want to do that." He smiled gently, seeing that Linola still wasn't reassured. "Why don't you sit down, my lady, and then we can begin the lessons? I will help you if you need help." She sank into her chair with alacrity, though she stared at him as if she thought that he was lying. Jyeron sighed, and turned away, nodding to the light-sphere hovering in the air. "Here will be the words I speak to the class. Feel free to write them or Recall them as you need. I permit any kind of magic to retain the words in the classroom, as long as it does not unduly disrupt the other students." Someone else in the back of the class stood up- a young medusa, he knew, by seeing the writhing shape of her hair from the corner of his eye, even before he faced her. "Yes, my lady?" "My name is Achera," she introduced herself hastily. "And- ah- Jyeron, the snake that remembers for me occasionally hisses loudly. Will that unduly disrupt the classroom, do you think?" Jyeron shook his head. "During tests, of course, I would request that you put him to sleep, the same way that anyone else would turn off a device." Achera nodded, and sank back into her chair, her scaled, blue-green face relieved- or so Jyeron thought. It had taken him a long time to learn to read the expressions of some of the stranger Changed in Zeras, and he still tripped up occasionally. He was getting better, though, he thought as he paced about the large, sunny classroom, thinking of where to begin. They had given him a good room, he thought, glancing about in approbation. The room was on the fourth floor of the Licalara, the Hall of Light that the Linguist- Historians had built in Zeras only a few centuries ago, but that was hardly a problem; most students could ride the magewinds or do something else that would bring them to it quickly. The walls were paneled with truewood, which didn't have the distressing tendency to come to life and attack those around it that wood from trees touched by the wild magic did. It smelled better, as well. The colors of the wood were muted, rich orange and bright gold in only a few places, swiftly sinking back to musty flame and the soft haze of sunlight that penetrated the room from the large blueglass windows. Nothing bright for the sun to sparkle or glare off, and the view through the windows was sky, unlikely to distract the students unless the magewinds were bored. Excellent. Realizing that he had been pacing for some time while they stared at him, he turned back to the front of the room and began to speak. "Ancient Aril, as it is now called- more properly spoken of as the High Tongue, as it was in its own time, to distinguish it from the other forms of Aril living then or now- was the language of Rowan, the great city of the eastern Tableland-" A growl interrupted him. A slight smile on his face, Jyeron looked over at Achera. He had learned, by now, what a medusa's growl of anger sounded like. "Yes, my lady Achera? What is it?" "I must have misunderstood you," she said, sitting stiffly and not bothering to rise to her feet. "Rowan, the city that caused the Change and destroyed the Old World? Great?" "In size and influence, certainly." Jyeron smiled more broadly as she continued to scowl. "If you do not agree with the designation in terms of nobility- well, many do not. But that is all centuries in the past. And we have begun to recover, have we not?" Heads and necks bobbed all over the classroom. This was taken as an article of faith by everyone in Zeras. Everyone wanted the city to stand, not fall to chaos and the wild magic as had so many others. Please, let it work, Jyeron prayed with uncommon strength in his heart. Please, let it work. He hadn't felt this way about a city in centuries. Zeras was his home. He shook off the daze after a moment and returned to his lecture. "It was the language of Rowan, for the whole of the Third Era, from the end of the War of the Falling to the beginning of the Change. Of course, it was shaped and changed much in its time. It grew from a relatively simple vocabulary suited to the world before the Silver Unicorn Empire to a language that was often used all over Arcadia, not necessarily for ease of comprehensiveness, but for its grace and amounts of terms for emotional expression. Of course, since it was the language of the land Elwens, who could sense emotions, it abounded in those." He inclined his head towards Linola, the only land Elwen in the classroom. She didn't react in any way, didn't remove her eyes from the words floating in the ball of light. Muttering under his breath- sounds thankfully not recorded in the ball- Jyeron turned and looked up at the rest of the students again. "Aril is, of course, an excessively complicated language." He ignored the groans of his students. "It has eight declensions, each with fourteen cases, with the exception of the last two declensions, which have sixteen cases each." The groans were in earnest now. Jyeron ignored them, and continued on, his eyes glowing a little as he let the words roll across his tongue. "It also does not use pronouns in the same way that other languages you are accustomed to do, and it has few, if any, words for the wild magic and its effects, so you will be compelled to stay to older subjects when speaking it..." ---------------------------------------------------------- Jyeron hated the feeling that he was lurking, but he was determined to stay in the corridor until she came out of the room. It might hurt her trust, to see that he was obviously waiting for her, but he was starting to think that he didn't have any choice. He wanted her to be comfortable in his classroom. If that meant a little discomfort at first, so be it. The bells that signaled the second hour of the afternoon pealed out across the city, and Jyeron muttered under his breath again. He had an appointment to meet with Hyanda along the Syera just now, but it would have to wait. She would understand. Linola came out at last, peering out of the room like a mouse from its burrow. She started when she saw him, and looked as if she might run, or at least duck back through the door. "My lady?" Jyeron tilted his head at her, and smiled, not letting her pale eyes escape his own golden gaze. "I'm sorry, but I think that we must speak." "I failed?" she whispered. "How can you fail a class on the first day?" Even though he was speaking to a student who would probably have to handled extremely carefully, Jyeron refused to be other than himself, and logic was part of that self. "No, my lady, but you seem so- deer-like," was the best adjective that he could come up with. He knew better ones, in both Aril and Melli, but she wouldn't know them as yet, and would probably take them for insults or other terms of abuse. "Constantly startled," he continued, when she only stared at him as if not understanding. "Very much so. I would like to help you be a little bit more comfortable in the classroom. If you would-" She bolted, but down the hall, not running back into the room. Jyeron was glad. It gave him the chance to follow without appearing as if he was trying to corner her. She was fleet, but he was the faster, and he could slip from shadow to shadow and hide within them, the magic of his kind. Linola had just reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs, and was glancing back, when he stepped out of the shadows and put a hand on her arm. He imagined it must have been quite a shock, seeing a dark silver hand appear out of seemingly nowhere, but he held her gaze with a gently insistent one of his own, one that surely not even someone as terrified as she was could mistake as predatory. "My lady, what is it?" She stood firm for a moment, trembling as if she were a fountain the magewinds had decided to place a cork in, and then crumpled and began to cry. Jyeron decided that touching her wasn't the best idea at the moment- that seemed to terrify her, more than soothe her- and instead murmured quietly over and over. "Cilda, cilda, raurlan." She looked up at last, wiping away the tears and asking, "What was that?" "The High Tongue," said Jyeron. "It means, 'Hush, hush, I know.'" "You don't really." "No. Would you like to tell me?" She stared at him, then looked away. "I'm sorry," she managed to choke out. "But what you said in the classroom- someone once used the same-" "The same words, to try and force you into something that you didn't want to do?" guessed Jyeron. "Yes." Jyeron nodded. "What was his name?" His voice was so gentle that the blinking Linola, fighting back more desperate tears, answered before she thought better of it. "Cortalis." Then her hand flew to her mouth, and she winced. "Oh no-" "It's all right," said Jyeron, and this time dared a pat on her hand. "I asked you, and you answered. You can't be held responsible for anything that happens." "Happens?" Jyeron shook his head and turned to lead her gently down the hall. "So, when I spoke those words, you thought that I was-?" "Mocking me," Linola whispered, head down. "Or were going to do the same thing." Jyeron shook his head, wishing he knew what it was that Cortalis had done, but he knew it wasn't the time to ask that yet. "Come with me, my lady," he said, and pulled her into a small room off the third floor hall that Linguist-Historians usually used when they wanted to speak with each other out of the students' hearing. Thankfully, it was empty for the moment. Jyeron set her firmly in the nearest chair and then moved away from her, standing against the wall away from the door and yet in front of her, so that she wouldn't feel threatened. "Please tell me, my lady, why you feel that you will fail the class." "I- my lord, please don't call me my lady. It makes me feel uncomfortable." "Then don't call me 'my lord,'" said Jyeron, with a faint smile. "That title does the same thing for me that 'my lady' does for you." "Very well." She steeled herself before saying it; he could see that, even if he couldn't read that much about her. "Jyeron. I fear that I will fail because I have failed every class up until this point." "If you had, the Linguist-Historians would have put you out of the Hall," said Jyeron mildly. They felt that only those who deserved it should learn. To his surprise and amusement, she flashed him a harsh glance, her eyes abruptly like the crystals they resembled in more than color. "I am trying to tell you why I felt that I failed your class already. Your interruptions make it all the harder." Almost at once, she paled and clapped a hand to her cheek. "Oh, stars, what have I-" "My lady." He used the title on purpose, to annoy her and attract her attention, and saw to his relief that it did both. "I want you to hear this. I want to help you, if I can, but I have to know some things- truthful things- in order to do that." She nodded slowly. "Now, you know you can't have failed every class. So, why did you say you did?" She cast her eyes down. "It felt as if I did, my l-" Jyeron raised his eyebrows. "Jyeron." The curalli nodded, satisfied. Then he sat down at the table, making sure not to touch her or make any further motion towards her. She had tensed enough when he had sat down, he thought. "And why is that?" he asked, saw her tense again, and added quickly, "If you want to tell me, of course." She looked at him closely. "Everyone I spoke to about you said you were sterner than this." Jyeron smiled. "I am with people who annoy me. You don't." He glanced up as a corner of the ceiling began to flash white, as it usually did if two people stayed in the room and spoke for more than five minutes. "Would you like something to drink? Eat?" "Anything," she said, voice so low that he could barely hear her, as if she didn't want to intrude. Jyeron nodded, and spoke to the corner. "Two cups of water, and-" He darted a glance at her. "Bread," she said. Under his stare- she wore a long robe, but even under that, he could already tell that she was too thin- she added reluctantly, "Meat. Fruit. Flowers, if I must," she finally said, when he continued to stare. Jyeron nodded, and turned to the white glow. "You heard that." "So did we!" said a voice from thin air. Jyeron snorted. "You try to change our order, and I'll catch one of you, put you in a bottle, and throw the bottle into the Syera." There was a squeal, as of a child impressed by the childish threat, and then the same voice said, this time in subdued tones, "We're sorry. We'll help our cousin bring the meal." Linola opened her mouth, looking grateful, and Jyeron quickly shook his head at her, sad that she slumped back, unnerved, but knowing it was for the best. "You touch it, and I'll do just what I said. But it'll be three of you this time. Hell, I just might clear the city." There was another impressed squeal, and then the magewinds darted off. Jyeron's gaze found the open window on the far wall- warded so that no one outside could hear the words of those inside, but still wide open to the air- and slammed it shut with his telekinesis. Linola slumped back, staring at him. "I've never seen anyone treat magewinds that way." "You've got to take a tough hand with the little bastards." Jyeron shrugged, while his mind filled with memories. "They aren't always that tame. They like Zeras, thank the stars, because we live with the wild magic instead of trying to oppose it. But you still have to threaten them- like that, usually- to get them to listen to you." "Cortalis-" Linola began, and lapsed into silence. "Yes?" Jyeron asked, as the door opened, and the white glow floated a tray into the room. He murmured his thanks, took one cup of water, and handed all the rest to Linola with a little flourish. The smell made his mouth water, but he reminded himself sternly that he would eat when he had met with Hyanda. "I'm not sure that I should tell you," muttered Linola, picking at her food. Jyeron stared at her again until she picked up the bread on which small, neat petals of the pasa flower had been laid. "Were you a healer in a former life?" she added in irritation. "Something like that." Jyeron fixed on her eyes, her tentative smile as she chewed the food, to keep the memories from flooding over him again. "Now, tell me what Cortalis said. I promise you won't get in trouble." Linola's smile was stronger now, almost bitter. "I've been in trouble so many times that I'm not sure I care anymore. But it was you that I was thinking about. An argument with Cortalis would cause a conflict of interest in the Linguist-Historians, wouldn't it?" Jyeron shook his head. "I'm here as a temporary assignment only; the Licalara in Rowan sent me here." "Rowan." The bread fell forgotten from her fingers as Linola leaned forward, staring at him with an eager expression. "You have been there. You weren't lying when you called it great." "No, I wasn't." Jyeron shook his head. "It is great- though only a shadow of its former glory, of course." Again, he had to concentrate to keep the memories from sweeping over him. They weren't just overwhelming, this time, but painful. He didn't want to experience them again. Linola's voice helped pull him back. "...must have been there hundreds of years." "I beg your pardon?" Jyeron fixed on her words. "I missed the first part of that." She stared at him, a shadow of doubt that he meant to help her, he knew, invading her eyes, and he added, "Rowan was my home for some years. Just remembering." "Oh. I was saying that you must have been there for centuries. I've heard the accent a few times in the past, but never from anyone who had it down that perfectly." Jyeron laughed. "Thank you." He would have to watch that, then, if she had noticed it. Of course, he had lived for years among Linguist-Historians, specialists in the study of sound, and no one had remarked on it. "So. We were talking about Cortalis." "You are sure?" "Yes." "Then-" Linola stared at her hands, which were almost covered by the sleeves of her long, pale blue robe, and sighed. "I was punished several times in that class, most often by magewind." She glanced up, smiling wryly. "That was one reason I was surprised you threatened them. Cortalis accepted their help all the time." "And Cortalis is one of the most Changed masters in the Hall," Jyeron pointed out calmly. "So, he punished you. For what?" "For not concentrating, not paying attention, not being able to play back the recording of the words that he spoke word by word." "There was a problem with your device?" Linola shook her head. "I use my memory. It is nearly as good, but more often it translates the words I don't understand into complementary terms that I do. Cortalis didn't like it." Jyeron chuckled, then bowed when she looked at him with a wounded expression. "I'm sorry, my la- Linola, but you couldn't have irritated him more if you'd tried. He prides himself on the clarity of his lectures; he can speak a dozen languages as if he'd been born to them. If you had a problem understanding, or at least found your own kind of words more comprehensible, he would have taken it as a personal affront." Then he sobered. "But it was wrong of him to punish you for it." "Maybe not. If-" "Linola!" She glanced up, shaking a little. "What?" At the look on her face, Jyeron leaned back, putting some distance between them, and blew his breath out. "I know right from wrong," he said softly. "I know that what he did to you was wrong. He tried to rape you, didn't he?" Linola lowered her gaze. "Didn't he?" "How did you know?" "He tried the same thing before, with another female student, and with one male." Jyeron's hand clenched on the arm of his chair. "No evidence, of course. In the case of the female student, it was her word against Cortalis's, and he claimed that he had been elsewhere at the time, so it could have been an Image the wild magic had formed. Never mind that that's unlikely," he added in a low, bitter voice, "since the wild magic likes him so much. The male student claimed that Cortalis was in love with him and would never deliberately hurt him." "Could I talk to them?" Linola's eyes were bright, though Jyeron doubted it was from hearing that others had been hurt. That would have caused Cortalis's eyes to brighten, but he was already thinking that this young land Elwen woman took no joy in pain, given how much she flinched from it. She would be glad of someone to talk to who had had the same experience, though. Jyeron shook his head. "I'm sorry. The female student later failed all her classes and was sent from the Hall." Linola stared into her cup. Jyeron leaned across the table and stared at her again until she looked up. "The male student committed suicide." "Stars," said Linola softly. "And he was never charged for this?" "No." Jyeron turned his head away. What could he say? The laws of Zeras had to be satisfied before they would administer the punishment for rape, which was gelding, and neither case had undeniable proof, even though everyone knew what had happened. That hadn't mattered for the vengeance that he himself had taken on Cortalis, of course, but then, that vengeance was a small and petty thing, and he wasn't able to do anything more than it. "Then I do want to make a complaint against him," said Linola, jarring Jyeron back to the present again. He would have to watch that. "Good!" he said, smiling at her. "I'll help you to lodge it, and-" "No." "What?" Jyeron tilted his head. "He didn't succeed, and I don't want- I don't want everyone to know that I was the one he tried it on," said Linola softly, staring into her cup again. "Please, can you do it for me?" Jyeron pondered. It would mean direct action against another teacher of the Hall, and while he didn't mind that, he did mind that she wouldn't make the complaint herself. It would seem more like a personal grudge against Cortalis if he did it himself, and the other masters had already warned him they wouldn't tolerate that. They would cast Jyeron out, and then Linola would have no one at all to help her. He explained that, but her eyes were still pleading, and Jyeron sighed. He never had been able to resist someone looking at him hopelessly, and still less someone as obviously brutalized as she was. "I'll see what I can do." The smile that came to her then looked like the first one her face had worn in a long time. Pierced by the childlike joy and loneliness in it, Jyeron only shook his head, made her finish eating the food, and then let her go. For some reason, though, his gaze following and finding her back, what was most prominent in his mind was the store of memories the conversation had brought up. "Must have been there years," he whispered. "Centuries. Longer than..." He rose to his feet, glancing at the window, and shook his head. Yes, the room was proof against sound, but that didn't excuse whispering aloud to himself things that no one else had a right to know. ---------------------------------------------------------- Jyeron walked slowly along the Syera, even though he was nearly an hour late. He liked the river; it was another of the things that made the city home to him. In daylight, it glowed and danced and chuckled, especially now, when the snow running downriver from the Mountain had faded at last and the water was at a more reasonable level. The color was mostly blue, more than that of many rivers he had known in the Changed World, though it rippled with the fleeting rainbow splashes of magewinds touching the surface and the trembling, blue or gold or green droplets of the random wild magic that ran in it. Barges poled across it, or were hauled, in a few cases, by donkeys, mules, or karkadanns on the bank. Other ships sailed back and forth, their sheets full of magewinds. Jyeron shook his head. Only the rich, the risk- obsessed, or those with no choice- those who had used it so much that now it followed and clung to them like moss to a dog's coat- used the wild magic like that. "Jyeron." Jyeron turned at the cool voice, sighing in his head. He had known that Hyanda would be irritated; she always was, whenever he was late. She said again and again that if he would ever put effort into courting her, then she wouldn't mind as much, but being late showed that he wasn't that interested. Never mind, Jyeron thought idly as he sat down the regulation five feet away, that he had been courting her patiently for the five decades since he had been posted to Zeras. She had had some kind of tragedy with three suitors before him, and had made it clear from the beginning that she wasn't interested in a hasty courtship. Jyeron had agreed. And he really did love her, so he wasn't as annoyed by the cool manner as he pretended to be. It was just that she did it so often. "About time." Two eyes opened in Hyanda's shoulder and stared at him; she kept her head turned away, as a sign of how displeased she was with him. Jyeron smiled at them. They blinked and withdrew into her skin again. Hyanda was an iya'calaram, one of that rare race- rare in Zeras, at least- that, though Elwen-shaped in most ways, with two arms and legs and a face in more or less the ordinary position, could grow eyes or mouths or noses all over their bodies. Those extra faces occasionally had special purposes; for example, they might grow a bloodhound's nose to help sniff out a criminal. Often, they were just used for moods, as Hyanda's eyes had just been. "Will you forgive me?" asked Jyeron. "Perhaps." Hyanda kept her head turned away. Her skin was dark purple, with black and deep blue ripples in it every now and then, like disturbed water in the evening. Her hair was an almost metallic shade of the same color, and currently hung to her waist, though it grew out of her neck like a horse's mane. Her true eyes were as golden as Jyeron's own, and her teeth- in this mouth- shaped like fangs as she at last turned to face him, after several minutes of patient staring on his part. "I don't like it when you're late," she said. "You know what it means to me." Jyeron nodded. Her last love, another iya'calaram, had been supposed to meet her the night before their wedding on a ship on the Syera. He had vanished, without any kind of trace, and now Hyanda was afraid that if someone was late, it might mean it had happened again. She probably never would find him, Jyeron thought sadly, and she had wisely given up looking. The world was chaos since the Change, and that was just the way it was. The wild magic had taken him, most likely, through one of its creatures. Or, if the magewinds that day had been irritated enough, he might have ceased to exist, just to placate them. One can trust in nothing, but that which we make to trust in, thought Jyeron. And a student in the Hall- the Hall of Light, as we named it!- should be able to trust one of her teachers not to rape her. "Jyeron?" Jyeron turned his head back, from the river to Hyanda. "Yes?" "I forgive you." Her face was softening, now, the dark purple skin sprouting blue eyes that blinked at him and then vanished. Jyeron smiled again. "Does that mean that I can come a little closer, my lady?" "A little." He moved a foot closer, paused, studied her, was almost sure that she would be uncomfortable instead of offended if he didn't come closer, and so sat down again. "Closer." "Are you sure?" "Yes." Gazing into her eyes, ready to pull away again the moment that he saw a flinch or a flicker that should not have been there, Jyeron continued to move in. He waited until she shivered a little, a shrugging motion that resettled her hair more prettily, and then sat down and waited again. Hyanda smiled, showing her teeth in what would have been a threatening gesture among wolves. "I really am sorry, Jyeron. I was on edge today." "Why, my lady?" She sighed. "One of my students went on a plant- gathering mission to the Mountain and didn't return." Jyeron did his best to keep his frown to himself. He knew that Hyanda often appointed her students who were best at one task almost exclusively to that task, and he could guess who had vanished. "Poral?" he asked, just to be sure. Hyanda nodded, staring out over the river with two pairs of eyes and fixing one on him, as if hoping that he would make a gesture that would lead her to the missing half-Faerie girl. Jyeron sighed. "My lady, why did you send her up there?" "I know what you said about it, yes." "You asked for my advice, and I gave it to you. The Mountain is too close to the border of Faerie. Get her too high, and the blood would call to her too strongly. She might easily have gone back to her father's people." "Faerie doesn't exist." Jyeron rolled his eyes. They had had this argument before, too. Why did he always have to be the logical one? he wondered. "Yes, my lady, it does. Otherwise, how do you explain Poral's blood?" "She's half-alfar." Jyeron snorted. "That's even more unlikely, and you know it." The other two pairs of eyes turned back to stare at him. "I came to you for advice, not criticism." "You're going to get both." Over the years, Jyeron had learned just how near the borders of her tolerance he could push Hyanda, and he hadn't gotten anywhere near the limits yet. "My lady, please understand. I know that you want your students do what they're good at. That makes the healers more efficient, and stars know we need efficient healers in Zeras. But, whether you believe in Faerie or not, sending a girl who has repeatedly explained that a voice inside the borders is calling her near those borders is sheer waste." "Are you accusing me?" Jyeron let out a slow breath. Hyanda must have less patience than usual; she rarely used that phrase save when he was near the borders. But he had a chance, this time, maybe, to get her to hear him, even if it was via the slightly despicable gate of her worry. "Yes. Of carelessness, nothing else," he added quickly, seeing her eyes narrow. "But, my lady, that cannot be excused if it costs Poral her life just because you don't believe that her mother told the truth about becoming pregnant by a Faerie." "I don't believe it." Hyanda's voice was more heated than he had ever heard it. "I don't believe that any such thing as Faerie exists." Jyeron sighed and lifted his hands. He knew that tone, too. When she used it, then he was just about to go over the limits. "Very well. What you say. Do you want my help to look for Poral?" Hyanda tensed a moment, then rose to her feet, shaking her head. "No. And this meeting is over, Jyeron." Jyeron stared at her back, pained. "I didn't even get the chance to tell you the latest land Elwen love song I translated," he said, temporizing. There was a pause; then ears appeared on her shoulder blades. "Tell," she said, her voice somewhere between a plea and a command. She loved land Elwen poetry. Jyeron was just glad of the excuse to spend a few more moments in her company. He began softly, but not so softly that the ears couldn't hear. He wished that she would open some eyes as well, so that she could see from his expression he meant it. But she only listened. "I was the wave as it rode the ocean, And thou, my love, wert the wind on the sea, And I crooned to thee forever a song of devotion, And thou, blowing by overhead, spake nought to me. "I was the flame as it danced in the fire, And thou, my love, wert the wind upon the light, And though I sought to speak to thee of my desire, Thou spake not to me, from upon thy great height. "I was the pebble as it lay in the earth, And thou, my love, wert the wind upon the trees, And I sang that thou wert sorrow, thou mirth, And thou spake nought, said nought, to give me ease. "O, my love, let me be a wind in the air! And let thee be a wind come from the sun, And then, I might speak thy speech beyond compare, And thou might turn thy course, beside me to run, "And together we should blow over the sea, Then together we should blow over the light. Then together over the earth we should flee, And come, thou and I, together on the height." Hyanda was quiet for a time. Then she said, with a tone in her voice that he hadn't heard in long years, "Thank you, Jyeron." "Another meeting, then?" Jyeron kept his voice as quiet and gentle as he could, not wanting to shatter the spell the song had woven. "Another meeting," said Hyanda, the tone in her voice still there. "I don't mind at all." And he couldn't remember how long it had been since she had said something like that. "Tomorrow?" he asked softly. "On the slopes of the Mountain, at noon," she agreed. "If you don't mind coming with me to search for Poral?" "I don't mind at all," Jyeron whispered, trying to keep himself from choking up. "Will you be by the white rose-tree?" "You do remember." Another tone he didn't remember, the warmth greater than that of the sun as it curved to a position where it could glare on the River. "I'll be there, Jyer." Jyeron bowed his head. When he looked up, she was already gone. And then, he realized that he had heard her use that tone, say that kind of thing, before. It had been on a perfect spring morning when he had met her by the white rose-tree- a haven they had both sought, without seeing each other, to be alone for months- and they had walked together on the grass in the morning, grass covered with scattered drops of dew. He sighed, and fought to keep his eyes from closing in rapture. Of course, in a way it was selfish to be this happy when Poral was missing. But he truly believed she was all right. The magic of Faerie- which did exist, he thought rebelliously as he rose to his feet- didn't harm anyone of its blood. If Poral had strayed to the borders, she would have been taken in and not been harmed. Of course, she might not have had any choice in the matter, and in that case, she must be offered the chance, at least, to return to a mortal life. Humming absently, he began to walk, but stopped as his foot crunched on something. There was a short, sharp tinkle that sounded like broken glass. Had he broken something that Hyanda had left behind? Mortified- but also curious; he knew that she carried no ornaments that were glass- he bent down and picked up something, now mostly in shards, from the grass. The moment that he picked it up, it lost the faint green color that it seemed to have acquired as protection- to keep itself unseen, perhaps- and turned so milky and bright that he squinted. It was a sculpture of a flower, every petal so perfectly formed that it made blown glass seem clumsy. "Who made you?" whispered Jyeron, gazing at it. He hadn't seen anything like it save the rare relics from the world before the Change, mostly useless things that their finders cherished as reminders of another time. Forging had been a more precise art than the metaldancing that had taken its place. A pity, but the wild magic permitted the use of very little science, and even the most mundane work, such as forging, had to be done by magic instead of the work of hands now. It was taking a long time to find the way back to some of those arts through the paths the wild magic did permit. But this- It wasn't forged, he realized slowly. It had a slight tingle that told experienced fingers it was alive, in spite of the glassy texture and the tinkle he had heard when he picked it up. He stared down at it, then slowly took one dark green curl of his own hair and laid it against the flower. At once, it acquired the same hue in the petal that touched the hair. Nowhere else did it spread. It was alive. A faerie-flower. Jyeron shook his head. This was a rare find, and it had grown where Hyanda was sitting. Even she couldn't deny this proof, assuming that he took it to her tomorrow, casually presenting it. Yes, technically he should keep it in the Hall so the Linguist-Historians could study such a rare excess of the wild magic, but he rarely did much that he was supposed to do, if he could get away with it. And no one would ever know about this. Cradling the flower, he walked off, whistling. Chapter 2 Night "...Night covers all." -Attributed to the Linguist-Historian Waaiamiraian, ninety-second century of the Age of Magic. He walked off, whistling The transaction had gone smoothly, and there was nothing to be afraid of in the way of retribution, as there sometimes was from those who watched their friends destroying their bodies with chaunri and demanded vengeance. The panther Elwen he had sold the drug to was almost pitiful enough to evoke pity from him. He wouldn't live much longer, and was trying desperately to enjoy the pleasures that chaunri offered- the more sensitive skin, the heightened senses and reflexes, and the cooler head- while he still could. Stupid, in Jyeron's opinion. But then, he depended on stupidity to help him run his business. Settling the coins in a bundle of rags in his pocket so they wouldn't clink, he whistled again, this time in a specific cadence, and the Shadowborn who had accompanied him came out from his hiding place in the deeper darkness and settled to walk in affronted silence beside him. Jyeron glanced down at him casually. "I couldn't have brought you, you know." The silence remained affronted. "He would have run the first time he saw you, and then we wouldn't have gotten any business done." Silence. "Are you listening to me?" The Shadowborn looked up and snarled, baring his teeth. He barely had time to regret the move. Jyeron pounced on him at once, and because the Shadowborn had been concentrating to bring his form out of the darkness and back into its half-life, he was easy to tackle. Jyeron and the wolf rolled over and over, snarling and snapping, but Jyeron ended up on top, as he always did. He bowed his head and snarled, eye to eye. The Shadowborn accepted it passively, casting down his eyes and whining, then leaning up to nip at the corners of Jyeron's mouth in affectionate greeting. Jyeron held his eyes one more time, and saw the blue-green gaze straining not to slide away from his. Satisfied, he stood. "There will be more of that if you do it again." His leadership of the pack had been hard-won, and he wasn't about to give it up. Certainly not for the sake of a Shadowborn who had known from the beginning of this journey that he wouldn't get to come into the light and terrify the customers. The Shadowborn kept his head bowed, wagging his tail a little, as if to promise that he wouldn't be any trouble. "You promise?" The great head bobbed. Jyeron stood, reflecting, with a grim little smile, on the irony that he was leader of a pack of shadow-wolves that could simply fade away when anyone tried to hurt them, or, if forced to attack, could replace parts of their bodies from the shadows any time they were wounded. And at nearly four feet tall, they came up to his chest, and were far stronger. Jyeron shook his head and trotted on, the Shadowborn now a pace or two behind him as they came into more lighted areas, so that he could fade into the shadows at need. It was strange how things like strength mattered less to wolves than whether or not someone could defeat them in a fight. Before Jyeron took the pack, it had been controlled by a runt of the litter who was intelligent enough to rule over his larger brothers and sisters. Not much difference, now, thought Jyeron. He wondered if that was one reason they accepted his leadership so tamely. He rounded a corner, and stopped, blinking, then frowned. Someone had put up a new lamp on a pole, hanging it right over a corner that he often used for sales. It had been nicely twilit before. He wasn't going to use it tonight, of course- he'd had only the one sale, and now had other business to attend to- but still, he might have had a sale. He held up a hand, watched the lamp start to swing, and then watched it stop. It was held up by a ward, and no mere exercise of telekinesis would make it move or stop it from burning. Very well, then. He took Ella out and held her up, near the lamp. She hissed in eagerness, vibrated a little, and then, as it did whenever she was bared and concentrating, the wild magic in the vicinity stopped working. Jyeron heard the muffled squeaks of several magewinds caught within the sword's influence, but his gaze was fastened on the lamp. Not directly, of course. No need to leave himself night-blind. But he wanted to see what happened when the ward stopped working. It was a little disappointing, actually. The flame in the lamp flickered twice, and then it crashed to the ground. Jyeron sighed, half-closing his eyes so that he wouldn't get blinded by the leaping dispersal of sparks, and then shook his head. So much for that. Or maybe not. As he slipped Ella back into her sheath, the wild magic came back, and an alarm began to clang. Jyeron glanced up in bemusement. Yes, destroying property was a crime in Zeras, but a street lamp? It hadn't been very powerful, or the wild magic in it would have been self-aware and would have fought the banishing for at least a few seconds. "I saw him!" Jyeron narrowed his eyes and looked around. The Shadowborn stood there, gazing at him, wagging his tail, not flattened to the ground and snarling as he should have been at the sudden sound. Which meant that he didn't hear it, of course. Probably the criminal who had brought down the street lamp wasn't meant to hear it at all. Jyeron smiled and patted Ella's hilt. "Thanks, girl," he whispered, then bent down and yapped softly to the Shadowborn. Though they couldn't speak any of the two- legger tongues, they did have a rudimentary language for those times when gestures wouldn't suffice. Such as for detailed instructions. "Go back to the others," he told the Shadowborn. "There may be a chase, and I don't want them finding the pack if there is." The Shadowborn's eyes glowed, and now he snarled, baring the teeth that had made the medusa Captain at the docks last night think twice. "I know," said Jyeron. "But I'm pack leader." That was simple, a short growl in a low register. It was something that he needed to say often, not because the Shadowborn were rebellious, but because he wanted to be left alone more often than they wanted to leave him. The Shadowborn yipped, then whined, a general protest that Jyeron had always translated in his mind as, "I don't want to leave you." "Go!" That meant a snarl and full eye contact, and the Shadowborn only wasted a moment rolling on his back and baring his throat to show willing. Then he scrambled up and disappeared into the darkness. Jyeron jumped to the top of the wall and took Ella from her sheath again. The sword began more of her whining at once. Thank the stars I had that scabbard made to dim the sound when she's in there, thought Jyeron as he stared down the streets and waited for the pursuit. I'm thirsty. "So am I," said Jyeron lowly, staring up and down and wondering why he hadn't had the sense to create a sword that he could speak to telepathically when she was drawn. He hated making a sound. "But I'm putting it off so that you can have some entertainment, aren't I?" Not my kind of thirst. Jyeron rolled his eyes. "No, I know. Ella the great, who can't drink wine or water and so must drink the blood of those she kills." Do you really think I'm great? "Great in vanity," he said, rising to his feet as he came to the conclusion that there wasn't supposed to be pursuit. A different kind of trick, then. Very well. "Don't always assume that a pretty adjective means a compliment." Stop it! "What?" Jyeron leaped lightly to the ground, knees bent to take his weight, feet precisely positioned to keep him from making any sound. I hate it when you talk language. You can understand everything I say, and I can understand everything you say, no matter what language you speak. Why do I need to know more than that? Jyeron grinned remorselessly, and put Ella in her sheath, ignoring the tail end of her last complaint. Good. Now he had the perfect way to tease her, and inside the sheath, she couldn't answer back. "You know, Ella, an adjective is a word that describes something else. Like 'great' or 'beautiful.' Or 'ugly,' 'bloodthirsty,' or 'vain.'" Certain people turned their heads to look at him as he made his way down the street, talking aloud to himself- for the fun of it, now that he knew he was in no danger- with a vibrating scabbard at his side. Jyeron ignored them. They were no danger, they were not prey, they weren't entertainment, and so they held no place in his small, self-contained world. ---------------------------------------------------------- "Deren." The server repeated the word as if she'd never heard it in her life before now. "You want that, this time of the year?" "Yes." Jyeron smiled at her, ignoring her impudence. At the moment, she was the entertainment, Ella having finally stopped vibrating and thus showing that she was responding to his teasing. "I understand it's a winter delicacy, but I know that you have some on hand." "How did you know that?" Pretty elven eyes narrowed. Jyeron raised an eyebrow and tapped his nose. "Smelled it, of course." The elf shivered. Even now, millennia after the Change, the elves couldn't quite come to grips with the fact that the Elwens were superior to them in almost every way, the curalli thought comfortably. "I'll get it- if you have the money." Jyeron tossed a handful of tokens into the air, and watched as she caught them. "It took some time to shape those," he warned, nodding to the swirling colors of contained wild magic in each one. Then he relented, seeing that she was already afraid of him. "Keep some for your trouble." Her eyes lit, and she glanced once around the room before looking back to him. "Then will you want some company for the night?" "It's not something you owe me." "I know." Her glance was unabashed as it ran over him. Jyeron laughed. She only wanted to share a bed with him for the money, and her gaze was purely for her own benefit, to see if she could endure him as a bed partner. "No, thank you." He tossed her another token, then added, "That one will let you sense lies. Keep it for yourself." Her eyes widened, and she caught it. "Thank you, my lord!" Her voice altered, and Jyeron laughed again at the way she tried to make herself a little more presentable and even aristocratic. He could see her eyes almost looking for the place he had produced the tokens from, though he had done it so quickly that she couldn't have seen anything. "I'll help you make sure it works." She waited eagerly. Jyeron leaned forward, smile never altering. "Bring me my meal and don't even think about robbing me, or I'll cut off your breasts and feed them to you." Her face paled, and she turned away, stumbling towards the door to the kitchens. Jyeron could hear her making retching sounds, several in a row before she got control of herself. He laughed again, and looked around. The restaurant was small and crowded, typical of the restaurants in this quarter of the city, where the officials of Zeras, including the Linguist-Historians, had shoved all the known murderers, thieves, drug addicts, and so on, on the supposedly enlightened theory that they wouldn't get into as much trouble if they all stayed in one place. Jyeron rolled his eyes. And, of course, it made sure that all the "lawful" people of the city knew just where to come for company- whether of drugs, illegal games, or the kind of company that the elven girl had offered him- or even other kinds. It also gave the criminals of Zeras a proven sanctuary to run to in times of danger. Any official trying to enter the Kerga Rallar, the Dark Quarter, would die there. That had been a vow sworn by several of the groups and darker lords or ladies who dealt here, and so far they had kept it. Jyeron shook his head, the thoughts that he had had upon selling the chaunri to the torkan, the panther Elwen, returning. Yes, stupidity was his stock in trade, even more so than the drug, but sometimes he could wish there was less of it in the world, if only to make him feel a little less lonely. The elven server returned with his meal, the deren, a carefully baked fish stuffed with pasa flowers, laid out on a plate of what smelled like pure silver. Jyeron's eyebrows went up, and he sniffed more appreciatively. Yes, it was metal and not some wild magic persuaded to lie in that shape for an hour, and that meant it must have cost a great deal. He looked up to see the elven girl watching him again, this time with a gaze that he had seen in the eyes of women before, though not for a long time. True, she was still trying to decide if he would be acceptably handsome and gentle for her tastes, and what gain he could be to her. But sometimes the couplings meant pleasure as well as money. Given the look of this girl, whose face wasn't marred and whose body wasn't starveling thin, she didn't have to share her bed against her will. And from the steadily changing look in her eyes, she might, for once, be looking for company herself, and not only money. Jyeron made a motion with his arm to the seat beside him. The alacrity with which she took it made him grin. "Some water?" he asked, pulling out his own flask and pouring it into the curved side of the plate. Few of the restaurants served anything but wine, and if it was brought by the hands of the elven girl or anyone else here, he would have to suspect it of being drugged. "I would like some," said the girl, her eyes downcast. She was playing the modest maiden again, and Jyeron found the pretense amusing. She hadn't seemed at all modest a few moments ago, with her gaze roaming over him. "But I am afraid..." She let her voice trail off teasingly. It didn't have any real fear in it now, Jyeron thought. He debated whether he should correct that for a moment, then decided that there was no harm in letting her play out the game that she had started. "Yes?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and smiling. "What is it that you are afraid of?" "Not truly afraid of anything," she said. "But I would like to drink the water from something else than the edge of your tray." She had a point. Jyeron could easily cut her throat if she stretched her neck across the table, and there was no seat closer to the tray, given the size of the table. He studied it for a moment, then smiled and dipped his fingers into the water, holding them towards her. "Will this do?" "Very well," she said, and leaned over to boldly suck the water off his fingers, without even asking first if it was drugged. The token she presumably still held would have told her if he had lied, but she didn't feel that she needed it. Or she knew that trust- carrying on the facade of the innocent- would charm him in a way that few other things would. Well, she was right, and the water wasn't drugged. Jyeron watched calmly as she sucked the liquid off his fingers, then bent down and drank, cat-like, for himself. When he looked back up, her eyes were large, with a darkness that he hadn't seen in some months. Not that bedplay was frequent for him, anyway. For his first years in Zeras, he had been too busy establishing his reputation to seek anyone out, and even now he couldn't lose the distrust of vulnerability that was almost inherent in his race long enough to have a good time for very long. But this woman, this night... It might have been the trust, act though he knew it to be. It might have been the fact that she was elven, and even with the sharpest knife in Zeras couldn't hurt him much unless he allowed it. It might have been that he was bored of talking to steel that whined for blood and the Shadowborn, who couldn't answer back in the same language he spoke. He smiled at her. "I have never had water flavored that way. Can I try it from your skin, my lady?" Smiling- whether at the courtesy title or the fact that he had given it to her, Jyeron wasn't sure- she leaned across and dipped her fingers in the water. "Of course, my lord. Drink to your heart's content." She held up the hand to him, one fat drop glittering like some magical wine at the tip of three of the fingers. The water was simply sliding down her thumb. Jyeron drank cat-like again, flickering out his tongue to rasp it across her skin instead of sucking as she had. By the look that she shot him before she controlled it, that was even more erotic for her than his imitating her actions would have been. "Soon?" Her breath was a hot whisper across his neck as she leaned in, this time apparently trusting that he wouldn't cut her throat, and nibbled a bit of the fish on his plate. Jyeron allowed it, since he had practically invited her to share his vespermeal anyway. "Soon." She leaned back, giving him a look of satisfaction. "Do you have to finish all of that?" Jyeron gave it a considering look. "I should. I did order it." "And paid, and haven't touched a bite of it since I sat down," she pointed out, with a quick laugh that she bit off when she noticed the way he was staring at her. "Will you come with me, my lord? I have a room here." Jyeron smiled, a little sadly. "In truth?" "In truth." She rose to her feet, holding out a hand for his, her eyes greedy and her face assuming another expression of trust. Jyeron eyed her. His fingers tapped his leg, unseen under the table. He should have scared her off when he had the chance. Should have? he thought almost at once, shaking his head. No. There were pleasures and benefits to be gained from even this. "Then we should go." He rose and took her hand. ---------------------------------------------------------- She really did have a room, a small one but a real one, just above the restaurant's front door. Jyeron smiled as he looked around. Walls paneled with truewood and hung with small weavings of grass and flowers instead of cloth, since looms even now broke down more often than they worked. The floor was smooth, the planks scraped clean with some ward he hadn't seen before, the bed wide enough for two and covered with soft sheets. It was the kind of room that would ordinarily only be used by the restaurateur and his wife. She couldn't have known that, of course. Jyeron leaned against the door as she stepped in ahead of him, then lashed out with a kick that caught her in the small of the back and pitched her to the floor. He was over her in a moment, a crouch that let him bare Ella from the sheath without drawing her all the way and hold the edge to her throat. Many private rooms had wards that would react with a trap to the sound of steel being drawn. It had taken him a few unlucky tries- tries that would have been a good deal more unlucky if not for Ella- to learn to circumvent that trick. "Lie still." The elf lay staring up at him with eyes that held fury, as if she no longer saw the least reason to disguise herself. Well, why not? Jyeron thought. He had found her out, and he would find out in a moment. His hand dove inside the tunic that she wore, the tunic that bared more shoulder than a server's should have, now that he thought about it. There were many other small things that he would have been noticing if he had paid attention- the self-assured way she carried herself and the smell of steel on her among them- but he wouldn't scold himself for not noticing them. He hadn't had any reason to expect an attack in the Kerga Rallar, and he hadn't thought that anyone would be so stupid as to approach him this way, one of the oldest deceptions in the world. "I really must remember that there is more stupidity in the world than I think," he muttered to himself. "What was that?" Jyeron looked down into her face and snorted with laughter. She was going to die in a few minutes, and she objected to being called stupid? "Do you always treat the women who invite you to go to bed with them this way?" Jyeron shot her a glance. Well, he had to commend her on her acting abilities, though they hadn't saved her. He dug into her tunic, found what he was looking for, and held up the silver raven badge. The badge of the Zerasa Guards. "I must tell you," he murmured, "next time don't wear this so close to the surface. Anyone could smell it when it's there." Her head sagged. It wasn't what had let him identify her, of course- it was that servers in a restaurant, even ones that might work as whores to bring in a few extra coins, never had a room in the restaurant itself- but she might be wearing a device that would record his words, and he didn't want to give the listening Guards any true information. Elves couldn't smell as Elwens could, and that anyone could smell it was a truth. She would believe his half- lie, and that was all he really wanted. He knew that he couldn't let her live, but he could leave as much confusion as possible in the minds of those who had sent her to capture or kill him. Confusion to the enemy. "Why me?" asked Jyeron, kneeling above her and looking her over. He could feel her legs tensing, as if she would kick up at him, and reached out with his free hand to grip the skin between her legs, shaking his head in warning. "I wouldn't try that, if I were you." Grimacing, and trying not to look sick about his hand there, he knew, she stared at him. "Why should I tell you anything at all?" "Ella?" asked Jyeron, in the murmured tones of a question. The elf blinked. "Wh-" She doubled over at once, or tried. Jyeron squeezed the skin between her legs in warning, and she flopped back, gasping, not quite able to lift her chest to draw in enough air for screams. The sword, resting against her throat, had let her feel a little of what it would be like, as Ella drank her blood and took something more- soul or life-force, Jyeron was not exactly sure- from her. It was only a small taste, and Jyeron could hear Ella almost begging for more. This far out of the sheath, her voice was a barely audible buzz at the back of his mind. "Enough, Ella." Jyeron spoke as mildly as he had asked her to begin, but the sword knew his moods and knew that he was on the verge of black rage. She stopped at once. Jyeron looked into the Guard's eyes. "Do that again, and I will let her into your mind. She will take the information as easily as if you were telling it to her. You might as well tell me." "At least I won't betray-" Jyeron laughed softly as Ella responded to his telepathic call and invaded the girl's mind. She didn't even struggle now, lying as still as if she had met a medusa's gaze, staring at the ceiling with blank eyes. "She's only done that to me a few times. Painful, isn't it? And yes, you are still betraying your friends, your comrades, the Zerasa Guard. If you had been sensible enough to let me have the information without taking it, then I might have been moved to some semblance of mercy. It's intelligence that I admire, not honor." She couldn't respond, but he knew that she would remember every word he spoke. She wouldn't have any choice. Ella, in taking the information, had severed her ability to remember beyond the moment. She couldn't learn anything new, couldn't hear anything that was spoken after this, couldn't remember her name or how to speak. Her life would repeat over and over. If he let it. Jyeron sighed. He had promised he would kill her and give Ella the blood, but- She doesn't deserve to live, even that much of a life, the sword said as he bared her. Jyeron smirked. "Because you're hungry." No. The curalli stared at his sword, wondering why this was such a common occurrence. Wasn't he supposed to be the one in control here? "You're not hungry, then? You fed on her mind?" I am still hungry. But I have been hungry before; you have starved me, when you couldn't accept what I was, and I survived. I will be hungry again. I am saying that she doesn't deserve to live because she was stupid enough to go after you. Jyeron threw back his head with a great bark of laughter. "I'm having some influence on you, after all," he teased, as he positioned her above the motionless girl's throat. Heart, please, said Ella, not bothering to answer his comment. It's sweeter there. "Heart," Jyeron agreed, and drove the sword in. When she was done feeding, he considered what to do with the body. This was probably the reason that the Guards had sent an elf, though he doubted that they had told her. Elven bodies didn't spontaneously combust as did Elwen; it was easier to find them, harder to get rid of them, and far easier to tell what had killed them. Jyeron smiled then, his mind making itself up, and snapped his fingers. He picked up the limp, pale body, draping it over his shoulder as if she had had a little too much to drink, and then carried her down the stairs and out into the street. No one glanced at him much longer than a moment as he passed. Carrying a dead body would only elicit interest from buyers in the Dark Quarter, not the tiresome excitement that would come almost anywhere else in the city. Jyeron moved down a few streets, whistling under his breath, until he came to a wide square. In the days when this Quarter had been open to the rest of the city, he'd heard, it had been a park. Now it only held the Fountain. It stood alone in the center of the openness, a perfectly formed fountain, made of what appeared to be white stone, its spouts three fantastically carved gryphons, with necks as long as a swan's and the wings of butterflies. The water poured from their beaks, from their wings, and, in what might be proof that the wild magic did understand what other sentient beings would find funny, from their buttocks. Jyeron stepped to the edge of the basin and gazed into it. The water wasn't nearly as blue as that of the River Syera, swirling with mad rainbows and colors that had no names, though it seemed quieter than usual tonight. There was an occasional reflection from the darkened sky overhead or one of the buildings- restaurants and brothels, mostly- that stood around the edge of the square. Jyeron was about to change that. He dipped the hand of the dead elven woman in the Fountain. At once, the water swirled and gurgled about the limp fingers, and there came a sound that reminded him of her sucking the water off his fingers earlier. Damn. His hand still tingled from that. He would have to find something to ease the tension that would build up in his body from the memory. "I bring news," he said, staring into the water. "And food, and a toy." The Fountain swirled with interest. He knew that it often received an offering that included one, or even two, but not all three. "You can have them all, for the answer to one question, if you know the answer," he said. The nearest gryphon turned its head to look at him, beak opening and closing as if it was speaking. It wasn't words, but feelings, though, that hammered him. The wild magic only moved the beak at all to keep up appearances a little. Hunger. Lust. Curiosity. Jyeron thought it over, then smiled. "If you don't know the answer, then make me a toy." Agreement. The nearest gryphon stood up, stretching, muscles flowing and rippling oddly as the stone- well, it was never really stone in the first place- became something more akin to living flesh. It stepped towards him, claws coming to rest on the edge of the basin, the leonine hind feet resting in the water itself. Water still poured from its wings and rear, but for the moment, the flow from the beak had stilled. It stared him in the eye. Jyeron held its gaze and formed the information in his mind, images, as close to emotions as he could get with this message. The Silver Raven badge, accompanied by anger. The Silver Raven flying into the Kerga Rallar, accompanied by distress. The Fountain responded at once. The Guards had invaded the Dark Quarter, and where they had come, others might follow. They wouldn't understand the value of the Fountain, would see it as an evil and perverse thing instead of making bargains with it. Or else, they would try to tame the wild magic that composed it, something the Fountain feared more than destruction. Anger swirled in his mind, and Jyeron smiled into its eyes, nodding his head. "You didn't know that, did you?" The gryphon shook its head, then agreement again hit his mind, along with curiosity. Jyeron formed the question he wanted replied to in his mind. These had to be even more precise, since the Fountain was formed of magic so wild that it had trouble understanding words. The slightest variation, or the use of a word that meant two different things, could cause a wrong answer, and he wouldn't get the right one without more offerings than he felt like giving. Who told the Zerasa Dock Watch that I was carrying chaunri? The waters rippled. The gryphons stood even more still than they usually did, the strange sense of life that hovered about them and made them more than statues fled. Jyeron waited patiently, only shifting the body in his arms as it grew a little heavier. The Fountain knew anything that had been done by water anywhere in the city; it drew its waters from the Syera and the eastern river, the Kendi, in some way that Jyeron didn't understand. Since it involved the Dock Watch, the chances were good that it would know the answer. But after a few moments, the gryphon came back to itself and shook its head. Then the others animated and looked at him, shaking their heads as well. Jyeron sighed. Well, he hadn't really thought, in his heart of hearts, that it would be that easy. If the Guards were getting good enough to come into the Dark Quarter unnoticed, then they were getting wise enough to hold their meetings in places where nothing would leave the room- not sound, not wind, not water. "Very well. Then make me a toy." He placed the body against the basin. The waters reared up, swirling. They ate the fingers, the face save for the lips, the shoulders, the belly, and most of the legs. They left the rest, and then swirled again as two figures began to rise from them. One was a strange-looking thing, almost Elwen-like but not quite, that claimed the rest of the body and began to lavish kisses on the lips, throat, and breasts without looking at him. The second formed itself gracefully into an Image. Jyeron held his breath, waiting to see what form the Fountain would choose. A moment later, he shouted aloud in laughter. "An excellent choice," he congratulated the water. An Image of the elven woman stood before him, but this time reaching out for him with eagerness in her eyes and a pulse that he could see thundering in her throat. Most Images had only one purpose, usually to kill or to guard something or someone. This one's purpose was to mate. Jyeron gently held her off until they reached the sanctuary of his rooms, where he gave in and eased the rest of his tension. ---------------------------------------------------------- When he woke, after a short but intense sleep filled with dreams, the Image was gone. Only a small puddle lay on the floor. Shaking his head and smiling, Jyeron rose to his feet, stretched luxuriously, and then called softly. The magewinds that hovered, subdued, in their glass cage on the counter sparkled with approving light and tipped the cage to the ground, shattering it. Then they swarmed over the water, turning it into dryness. "Back to your cage." Jyeron could feel their protest, their idea of testing him, the idea that if they all scattered in different directions at once he might not be able to catch them... "Do you want me to do to you again what I did to you last time?" There was no response, but the cage lifted to the counter, sparkling as it reassembled itself. A moment later, light from inside reassured him that the magewinds had retreated to their cage and didn't need another lesson. Jyeron nodded, rose to his feet, and sought out the comb that lay on the other corner of the counter. He had teased the Image, holding off on giving her any satisfaction as long as he possibly could, and she had almost yanked out his hair by the roots in return. When he was satisfied that the unruly-as-ever mass of dark green curls would stay in place for at least a few hours, he stretched and went into the next room, where bread and honey waited next to a pastry stuffed with pasa petals. "You didn't have to, Gillian." In response, the air shifted, and a vague swirl of green and silver in the form of a woman appeared. "I did," said the Image. "Last time I didn't have food ready, you yelled at me for hours." "Minutes," corrected Jyeron, biting into the pastry. "And I meant, buying this. It's pleasant, but I don't want you followed back." "How can I be followed, when I'm all but invisible?" "The pastry, Gillian. Pastries floating along in the air are noticeable. People will either assume it's stolen, in which case they will try to steal it in turn, or they'll be curious about who could have enough wild magic to lead it through the streets, and follow it home." "No one followed me," said Gillian sulkily, and made a chair bang as she sat down on the opposite side of the table. "Someone must have." Jyeron brushed crumbs from his lips and turned to dump the honey on the bread; he never bothered with a knife. Ella got jealous if he handled other blades for too long. "The Dock Watch knew that I was bringing in chaunri last night." "But that's what you do." "They'd had a report."